


Frisson

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5208548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>frisson: noun; frēˈsôn: a sudden strong feeling of excitement or fear; a thrill.<br/>late 18th century: French, literally ‘a shiver or thrill'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frisson

**Author's Note:**

> I write this morning, as I do every morning, in safety and in peace. I know much of the world is not as fortunate, so I write for those who cannot. I am thinking of Paris, and of Beirut this morning, and anywhere else there is violence and war where there should be only peace.
> 
> I told a friend recently what I was writing when she asked me and I said, "Just some Sherlock Stuff."
> 
> She replied, "It is not 'just' Sherlock Stuff."
> 
> Anyway-here is my attempt to throw a little light at a much darker world this morning. (5:49AM)

There did not have to be a case, or a wild rooftop pursuit to send a frisson of...what was it exactly, he considered-there were moments when he simply lifted his eyes away from the microscope and caught John watching him and he felt as if he had been electrified. 

"Sentiment," he grumbled to himself. To John, "You are quite the distraction, you realize."

"Hmmmmm?" John was lost in one of those plotless, infantile spy novels he was so fond of.

Sherlock found himself kneeling in front of his flatmate, his friend, his lover; removing the offending book, then looking up, permission given, slowly undressing the best man he had ever known.

"I want you," he whispered, as he removed his own robe, which left nothing to the imagination.

"Where?" John whispered back, the book long forgotten.

"I don't care, love-"

"Bedroom, then."

Somehow they made their way through all the piles of papers, stacks of books, and deserted teacups without injury and finally landed in a heap of limbs on the neatly made bed.

"I don't understand..."

"What, love?" as John kissed his way down Sherlock's throat, slowly, then making his way to one hardening nipple, as his fingers found the other.

"Howwwwww, you ca-uhhhhhhhhhh..." he suddenly lost his track of thought under John's ministrations.

"I think your question was 'how can you look at me once, and all I want to do is make love to you, immediately, if not sooner?"

Sherlock managed a nod, then arched his back as John moved down to lick one slow stripe-  
"Because, love, the feeling is entirely mutual."


End file.
